


I am not the only one

by Cinnamonleaf



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinnamonleaf/pseuds/Cinnamonleaf
Summary: Francesco de'Pazzi normally does not mind the busy weekend shifts in the emergency department. But when the son of the man who changed his life ends up in his care, things quickly spiral out of control.
Relationships: Lorenzo "Il Magnifico" de' Medici/Francesco de' Pazzi
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was very lucky to stumble across the announcement of Cuori and the storm of medical AU ideas it unleashed. So here is my take on the whole affair. Or should we say incident?

It was nights like this that made Francesco question his motivation to continue his work as a doctor in the emergency department of the hospital. Half a stag party had clogged up the waiting room and his shoes stuck to the linoleum floors ever since he had accidentally stepped into the vicinity of one of the drunk lads in shirts with crude slogans and way to many pink feather boas. But spilled beer was the least of his problems and he knew it. On Monday, a new round of junior doctors would join him and his colleagues for their first placements. A nightmare if there ever was one.  
“Male patient, 24 years old, cut above his right eye, possible concussion,” the nurse informed him seconds before he opened the door to the next treatment room. Francesco nodded and let himself in.  
A young man was sat on the stretcher, legs dangling, an irritated expression on his very symmetrical though currently very blood-stained face.  
“Hello, my name is Dr Pazzi,” Francesco introduced himself and fished his flash light out of the front pocket of his coat. “Can you tell me your name and what day it is?”  
The young man rolled his eyes, his sulk growing even worse.  
“Lorenzo de'Medici. It's Friday, September 29th. Can I go now?”  
Francesco paused for the fraction of a second at his name but then the young man's impatience overrode any questions he might have had.  
“Let's have a look at this first,” he said and took stock of the obvious. A large cut above Lorenzo de'Medici's right eye, almost in line with his eyebrow. He prodded gently at it and was satisfied with the sharp intake of breath his patient made. “This will need a few stitches. You are very lucky. It's not deep enough for concern and well out of the way of your eye. Can you tell me what happened?”  
Francesco checked Lorenzo de'Medici's pupils and the movement of his eyes with one forefinger, then looked at him expectantly.  
The young man exhaled and avoided meeting his gaze.  
“I ran into a lamppost,” he grudgingly admitted. “And I know I don't have a concussion. No nausea, normal reflexes. Just a small cut.”  
Francesco lifted one corner of his mouth into his tell-tale sarcastic smile.   
“Let me guess. Medicine.”  
“Excuse me?” Lorenzo met his gaze for the first time. His eyes, even with the black eye beginning to blossom, were a very alarming shade of blue.  
“You're a med student. Not the first time I get to patch up one of you. Tell me, did you really walk into a post or was there someone's fist involved.”  
“I- There definitely was a post involved,” Lorenzo said and Francesco noticed a blush creeping up the side of his neck. “And I don't get into fist fights, if that's what you're hinting at.”  
“Good for you,” Francesco said and busied himself with his notes. “Then we'll get you some local anaesthesia and stitch you back together. Your reactions and motor skills seem fine, you're not completely wasted or high, so you should be fine. We'll get you a prescription for some pain killers and a blister to last you the weekend.”  
The young man seemed relieved.   
“The nurse will administer the anaesthesiac. Any allergies or intollerances? Bad reactions to medication in the past?”  
Lorenzo de'Medici shook his head.   
“Very well. I'll be back in a few minutes.”  
Francesco handed the file to the nurse and left the young man. Out in the hallway, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the familiar scent of disinfectant and some more recent stale beer. He diagnosed a broken arm on a poor groom-to-be who appeared to have fallen off the stage at a strip club and sent him to get an x-ray.   
By the time he returned to Lorenzo de'Medici's treatment room, he was in a slightly better mood. He entered without knocking and found the patient lying on the stretcher, looking a little less sulky and a little more worn out.  
Francesco washed his hands and pumped some disinfectant onto them.  
“You sure you don't want to stay the night for observation?”, he asked gently and the young man's eyes flew open.  
“No, I'm fine. Like I said.”   
Francesco shrugged and slipped on a pair of gloves. While the nurse cut some surgical thread and assembled a tray of scissors, needles and gauze, he sat on a stool and wheeled himself towards the young man's head.   
“De'Medici,” he mused as he prodded idly at the cut, “do you happen to know a certain Piero de'Medici? He used to be a surgeon here.”Lorenzo's eyes widened and Francesco pulled his hand away. “Did that hurt?”  
“No- I mean- Piero was my father.”  
“Oh.” Francesco looked at Lorenzo de'Medici with renewed interest and a large portion of sympathy. While he was a few years older than Lorenzo, he was keenly aware of how close in age they were to each other. “I'm sorry, I did not mean to intrude,” he finally said. “Do you feel that?”  
Lorenzo shook his head and Francesco stopped poking the young man's forehead.  
The nurse quickly disinfected the wound – which would have hurt a lot, but since Lorenzo did not even bat an eyelash, it was safe to say he was numbed – and Francesco took a second to recompose himself. This was not personal, the kid did not know him and had no need to learn of his past involvement with the de'Medici.  
“Close your eyes, please,” he instructed and began setting careful stitches. “I'm sure you'll get to do loads of these soon. In fact, the position of your cut is ideal, medically speaking. You won't see a thing once the scar has fully healed. Your skin also seems in great shape, so you'll heal really quickly.”  
He hardly noticed any more what he mumbled while stitching. Keeping up a constant stream of reassuring chatter was a great way to make sure the patients stayed where they were and unaware of what he was doing.  
“I take it you really do study medicine. That's exciting. You're 24? So your first placements must be coming up soon. It can be quite daunting at first, but I am sure you are a very capable young man. And your father must have been a great inspiration-” Francesco bit his tongue. He had not wanted to stray off into that direction, but sometimes his mouth for the better of him when he rambled. He snipped the thread and gently touched the cut. It was still a bit messy with dried blood where the nurse had not wiped it off yet. But Lorenzo would be fine.   
“Okay.” Francesco snapped off the gloves and wheeled himself away from the stretcher. “Will anyone pick you up? Is there someone staying with you? Just to be sure there really is no concussion or after effects of the medication.”  
Lorenzo sat up slowly and nodded gingerly.  
“Good. Anything, anything at all, please call us,” he fumbled a calling card from his pocket. “I am on call this weekend, so it really is no trouble. And please give my regards to your mother.”  
Lorenzo de'Medici took the card and looked at it.  
“Your prescription will be at the reception for you to pick up.”   
Francesco was halfway out the door when Lorenzo's voice made him pause.  
“How do you know my father? He has not worked here in ten years. I don't remember you being at his funeral either.”  
Francesco touched to cool door frame with the tips of his fingers. Then he turned and his smile was sad.  
“Your father saved my life. He inspired me to work hard and study harder and become a doctor, just like him.”  
Loreonzo's mouth formed a silent 'o' and his gaze travelled down Francesco's tall figure, as if to see where he was impaired. Not that there was much to see. Francesco had to push back with full force against the intrusion of uncalled-for thoughts about how beautiful Piero de'Medici's son was. How perfect, even spattered with dried blood and bruised.  
“He was head surgeon at the time, but seemed to have taken a night shift in the ER.”  
“Yeah, he always did. That's why he was never home.” Lorenzo looked at his dangling feet.  
“I was lucky that he was there that night.” Francesco took a breath and let it out. He did not want to go into the details. Especially not in front of Piero's son. “He noticed what the other doctors had missed and operated straight away. For hours, until 4 or 5 in the morning. And he came every other day to check up on me, until I was discharged. Your father was a good man.”  
“I- Thank you.” Lorenzo de'Medici seemed at a loss for words.  
“Go home, sleep. I don't want to bore you with old stories. You need to rest and start avoiding lampposts.”  
The cross look on Lorenzo's face brought a smile back to Francesco's.  
“Thank you, Doctor Pazzi.”  
Francesco simply nodded and left.  
Half an hour later, the nurse found him on the balcony of the staff room, smoking a cigarette with deep, urgent drags.   
“Next time, please stop me from making a fool of myself in front of a patient,” he said with a wry smile, eyes fixed on the dark night sky.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea what I got myself into when I started writing this... but oh well. We shall see how long it becomes before I need to pull the plug on that pair. Enjoy!

Francesco was tired. He was only on his second cup of coffee of the day and had yet to smoke his after-breakfast cigarette. That made him appropriately irritated, to say the least. It was also Monday. And after a weekend on call, with the usual ups and downs and shenanigans, he was so not ready for a new cohort of junior doctors. The universe had quite literally conspired against him, the full moon bringing not one but two babies through his department – one case of unknown pregnancy and one case of impatient baby being born quite literally the minute the poor mother had set foot into the hospital. Luckily the daytime shift involved very few births and drunk people.  
He squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, then shook his head. It helped a little. Before he could even look at the staff notice board, a nurse swept him away to tend to a private patient whose swollen forehead did not even warrant observation for a concussion. Just a reminder to check for glass doors. But the perks of being privately ensured meant that Francesco had to attend to every single of the emergency cases, if only to shake hands and second the diagnosis a junior doctor had made. That was also why, when he returned to the staff room and found it empty, he scratched at his temple for a second. Then he remembered. The new placements. He was running late to greet his own new junior doctors in the making.   
Francesco stole a biscuit from the nurses' tin and lengthened his stride to get to the office of the medical director as quickly as he could. No wonder the corridors were even more empty than usual on a Monday morning. Normally, he was the last person to miss important meetings, yet showing his unhappiness about having to supervise another cohort this openly was definitely most unwise.   
The office was crowded when he slipped in through the door and smiled apologetically. The director, a short man who clearly did not run up and down the ward all day, clucked impatiently and raised his bushy eyebrows.  
“... Dr Donati will take the Cardio cohort up to the ward now. And here, finally, is Dr Pazzi. He is the Deputy Head of the Emergency Department. We just refer to it as 'down in ED.” The director pointed at Francesco with his extended hand and Francesco nodded and tried to smile amicably at the remaining med students. Two young women, three young men. Did emergency medicine become that popular all of a sudden or had they simply handed him all of the rejects from the other departments? It wasn't as if they only had one placement to do. If one so desired, touring the entire hospital was possible before settling for a specialisation. Few people chose his field after their placement. Too many hours, too many messy cases. It was not the most calm or stable life choice.  
The nervous faces of the young doctors were refreshingly rested and positively excited. And then he took a closer look at the third of the young men, who was leaning against a bookshelf and looked awfully familiar. His forehead bore an impressive bruise and he sported a slowly fading black eye. Lorenzo de'Medici. So he had guessed correctly about the stage his studies were entering, Francesco thought wryly. In spite of the bruises and daredevil looks, Lorenzo was … attractive. His nonchalant posture offset by the curls of golden hair that looked like it should be in a painting, or a glossy magazine. Not in a hospital office.  
Francesco swallowed, hard, and focussed on setting his face into a professional smile, not unlike the one he used on his patients.  
“This being the emergency department, I was held up by an emergency. It won't be the last time, so what better way to demonstrate. I am Dr Pazzi, I will be your main supervisor for the next week. Follow me.”  
He left the office and heard the students scramble to keep up with his quick pace. He forced his thoughts into the tunnel of routine, this being one of many groups of med students he had to supervise regularly.  
“We don't have the luxury of sitting down for chats. Think on your feet, quite literally, and wear comfortable shoes. Ideally none that are too precious.” The clacking of one of the women's heels was suddenly twice as noisy. “We don't give appointments and choose our patients. Anyone who needs us will be seen here. Smells, spills, tempers and all.”  
Francesco stopped at the staff room.  
“This is where the nurses live and where the coffee lives. You can drop your things here. But please be mindful of not blocking any cabinets or chairs or anything. We'll get you set up later. Since this is usually one of our quietest times of the week, you are being treated to a full tour – unless I am called to an emergency.”  
The young doctors nodded. He noticed with some satisfaction that they were already equipped with coats and had brought their own stethoscopes, notepads and pens. At least that announcement could be skipped. Francesco stepped back out into the hallway and pointed at the doors in front of them, first the one in the middle, then the two framing it.  
“This is the staff room. Here are the changing rooms. Our head nurse will induct you into all of the house rules later. This is the staff toilet. Never, ever, use any of the other ones. You'll thank me.”  
Francesco picked up his pace again and the pager in his pocket beeped once. No emergency, just a notification.  
“This is the main reception. Incoming patients are registered here and their files will be picked up by you or the nurses here as well. The canteen is down this way,” he pointed. “Treatment rooms are numbered and you always get one side of the hallway, so you know which numbers to listen out for.”  
Francesco checked his watch and his pager. A nurse in pristine scrubs approached the group with a small smile on her severe face.  
“This is Margareta, our head nurse. She'll show you the stock room and the changing rooms. Any questions, come to one of us. I have to head upstairs for half an hour, since our HoD isn't in this week. You are doubly lucky, since that means there won't be many changes in doctors on duty with you.”  
Francesco turned to leave before stopping himself.  
“It goes without saying that our instructions are non-negotiable, as is professional conduct, especially in front of patients. Think before you speak and when you are instructed to do something, don't argue. Do it. I will see half of you in an hour. The other half is with Margareta today. We'll swap tomorrow.”  
He left the baffled students and headed for the elevator. He was expected to deputise for the head of the department at the weekly conference. Of course he was late for that as well. And what on earth was he to do with Lorenzo de'Medici for a whole week – or at least three days – if he couldn't even keep it together for five minutes. Francesco sighed softly. At least there would be coffee at the meeting.


	3. Chapter 3

How he had managed to assign himself Lorenzo for two days instead of three escaped him. Or maybe it had been a mistake after all to simply throw every other person on his short list of students into the second group. Either way, it had meant a stressful day of glancing up and down the emergency department's corridors for the other cohort, just in case he could catch a glimpse of them, and being altogether a little more distracted and absent-minded. It was a holiday compared to what happened the day after.

Francesco prided himself on being calm and collected no matter what. Margareta would have been able to tell after just looking at him that he was off, but luckily the nurses on his side were less attentive to the doctor's eccentricities, possibly also swamped by the junior doctors' numerous questions and the ill-tempered patients. Normally, he was detached and polite, quick and efficient. Not exactly the epitome of compassion, he was aware of on some days more than other, but it got the job done. And with children, well. He preferred them over most adults. At least they still thought he could work miracles.

So Tuesday morning, when he pulled up to the spot reserved for him in the parking garage of the hospital, he felt a flutter in his ribcage. He killed the engine and pressed a finger to his artery, checking his pulse. It could be palpitations, or maybe complications from a virus infection, maybe the bout of flu he had had some months ago? Francesco leaned his forehead against the top of the steering wheel. He was nervous. Why was he nervous? It was ridiculous. He had nothing to be nervous about. It was a normal day at work. A normal Tuesday. With Lorenzo de'Medici and his blue eyes. Lorenzo de'Medici towering somewhere behind his shoulder, studying his every word. Dissecting his methods and skill as a doctor. He was probably overthinking this. Maybe even overdramatising. His kid had better things to do in life than caring about which doctor showed him the ropes in a department he would most likely decide was not for him anyway. A de'Medici was head surgeon. Cardiologist, if he could, paediatrician if he cared. Not deputy head of the emergency department.

Francesco finally got out of his car, no heart disease in sight, and swiped his ID card at the door to clock in for the shift. He locked away his car keys and wallet, slipped into the white coat and, unlike most other days, checked his hair, which was still as neat as when he had left his flat earlier. Margareta gave him a quick run-down of the night while he sipped his coffee in the staff room and they chatted about the junior doctors, who would be showing up sooner rather than later. Francesco remembered how eager he had been, how driven, to make every minute of his placement count. In hindsight, he had probably been rather obnoxious. Thank goodness Margareta had not been head nurse back then. He would never have recovered from her sharp tongue and quick wit. Now, he relished their five-minute catchups.

It was a surprisingly quiet day in the emergency department and, as with every cohort, Francesco let them get their feet wet with the first patients at around noon, after they had hopefully absorbed enough of the way things were run around the place. Not that he doubted Margareta's work the day prior. Both Lorenzo and the woman had listened attentively. The bruise on Lorenzo's forehead was fading nicely, Francesco noted in passing, and there did not seem to be any lasting damage to either his head or his ego.

“Just a sprain,” Lorenzo said with conviction after he had carefully probed the ankle of an elderly lady the ambulance service had dropped off at 2 in the afternoon. A simple fall on the steps of her house. Lorenzo smiled at the woman and then turned to shoot Francesco a confident look. Francesco could only raise an eyebrow.

“And you have come to the conclusion because...”

“Simple. Medium swelling, little pain, decent range of mobility.” The elderly lady seemed to have taken a shine to the young doctor, because she nodded at his words.

“Did you ask the paramedic about received medication?”

Lorenzo blanched ever so slightly. Francesco heard the other student doctor cough to hide a snicker and sighed. He reached out, with as warm a smile as he could, and carefully inspected the ankle in question for himself. Then he straightened back up.

“Now, if you had listened or consulted the file, you would have been aware that Signora Conte here is taking pain killers for a chronic condition- by the way, Signora, you should talk to your doctor if the medication interferes with your balance- so she would not have been able to tell the severity of the pain after the initial shock wore off.”

Under his glare, Lorenzo seemed to shrink a few centimetres. A small voice in the back of his head reminded Francesco not to be too harsh.

“With this knew information, what do you suggest?”

“I- I would send her for an x-ray. Just to be sure.”

“Do you agree?” Francesco asked Lorenzo's colleague, who nodded. Her face plainly said 'I already knew that'.

“Good. Signora, we will have one of our wonderful porters take you for an x-ray and once it has come back, we'll make sure to see you right away.”

Francesco shook the elderly lady's warm hand and swooped out of the treatment room.

“The lady in 5 needs an x-ray,” the nurse passed on to one of the porters, who grabbed a wheelchair and got moving.

“Why did you say you would see her straight away?” Lorenzo's voice had a slight drawl to it, as if he was sulking.

“Because while emergencies do happen,” Francesco chuckled. “We do try to treat people timely. Especially when we can do our best to clear the cases before the real emergencies roll in.”

“And you didn't promise to see her no matter what,” the young woman chimed in. “You said 'right away'.”

“Good observation. Never be hasty with your diagnosis. Always read the bloody files. And try to be polite, positive but vague,” Francesco counted off at his fingers. “Makes the job a lot easier. Any job, for that matter.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am not a doctor, please consult your GP or seek emergency medical attention if you have any health issues.
> 
> Though I hope this will not cause any of those.

A river of coffee. A lake, no, a sea of coffee. Francesco stared into his empty mug, contemplating drowning himself in the few drops at the bottom. He sighed quietly. It was of no help. He had to take what he got and get on with it. At least the Head of his Department was due to return to work and take some of the extra shifts off Francesco's shoulders. Once more he cursed the clinical director for not creating another position to cover the unusually frequent spells of absence Francesco's immediate boss was most famous for. He had been on call that night and, naturally, there had been a house fire with multiple smoke poisonings and minor burns and a rather nasty car crash in the early hours.

Without drowning himself in caffeine – maybe he should IV it directly into his bloodstream? A tempting prospect – he was not entirely certain he could face the cohort of students for yet another day.

Francesco groaned quietly. Of course today was his last day supervising the group Lorenzo was in. He had managed to run the department on less sleep, but then his attention had not been divided by those eyes and that smile. He was drifting off. Most definitely losing it. Francesco slapped his cheek a few times and got up, bouncing on his feet to get his blood circulating somewhat more efficiently.

“Dr Pazzi?”

He jumped and the shock got his heart racing some more. A young nurse was stood in the doorway, looking at him with a slightly frightened but otherwise rather amused expression. She must have been there for quite a bit then. How embarrassing. Francesco cleared his throat and straightened his lab coat and sweater.

“Yes? Oh, of course,” he hastened when he noticed the time. “Are they here yet?”

“All ready and waiting. No new cases, there is an ambulance out and on the way but it might be another half hour.”

“Thank you.” Francesco strode past the nurse and out into the corridor.

As promised, his cohort of junior doctors stood there, waiting and looking disgustingly fresh and awake. Margareta must already have resumed her morning checks with the other half.

“Good morning everyone. As you can see, we have had a bit of a rough night but the rest of the day should be smooth and relatively quiet. That does not mean that we can slack, though,” he said with a stern look at two of the group who were chatting quietly, “because we never know what comes in through the door next. That is the joy and the horror of this job.” Francesco shut his mouth before he could run off into dramatisations and senseless chatter. He really should have slept a little more. Or taken the IV route.

Just when he thought he had made a complete ass of himself, his pager went off. Reception.

“And here is the one they promised to come in in half an hour,” he announced, already walking briskly towards the ambulance dock.

“What do we have?” Two medics were wheeling in a young man on a stretcher who seemed to be in quite some pain and who was sweating unusually but showed no obvious injuries. Francesco hoped that the students were taking note of the efficient communication and the optimal use of time the doctor, nurses and paramedics were making by handing over the patient while unloading and processing him. By the time they had reached the emergency room itself, Francesco was already running an initial diagnosis, out loud instead of his mind, for his students' benefit.

“Severe stomach cramps, slightly elevated temperature, some vomiting. Sounds like an acute case of gastroenteritis to me.” He turned to the young woman whose large eyes were glazed over with discomfort. “Hello, my name is Dr Pazzi. Can you tell me your name?” Francesco quickly checked the patients' vitals. She mumbled a response that matched the name on the patient form.

“Okay, can you tell me where exactly the pain is and where it started?”

He watched her move a shaky hand over her stomach. There was some swelling and he pointed out the obvious signs of the infection to the students. He was about to order a nurse to set the woman up with fluids and some painkillers, when Lorenzo de'Medici calmly spoke up.

“Dr Pazzi, may I try the rebound test? We learned about it and I thought it might be beneficial to exclude accute appendicitis.”

Francesco's blood froze. He nodded and Lorenzo stepped in next to him, a reassuring smile for the patient and clean, precise fingers gently finding the right point on her abdomen. Her sharp intake of breath as soon as his finger lifted off the skin was answer enough. Francesco cursed quietly. How could he have missed this?

“Thank you, Lorenzo,” Francesco said through grit teeth. Then he turned to the nurse. “Get word to Dr Baldini, he has an appendectomy coming up urgently.” The nurse nodded and briskly walked out into the corridor.

“We will have to operate, Signora, but that is no cause for worry. It is a minimal procedure that Dr Baldini performs routinely. Are there any relatives you would like us to call for you?” Francesco tried his best calm smile and found it shaky. The patient nodded weakly and dictated a phone number to another nurse.

Francesco was leaning against the railing of the staff cafeteria on the fourth floor, cigarette in one hand, large cup of coffee in the other. It was a desperate situation and he felt dreadful. An appendicitis. It was one of the first thing you were taught and one of the last things you should ever forget. And he had, quite literally, forgotten about it. Lorenzo de'Medici had been very respectful in his intervention, yet the hurt pride and anger at himself and his exhaustion haunted Francesco. Sadly jumping off the balcony would not solve any of his problems. It might cause some internal bleeding, maybe an organ rupture, if he was lucky, but more likely a simple case of multiple fractures. He could try to land on his head...

“Sorry to disturb you, Dr Pazzi,” a melodious voice said and he jumped, bits of cigarette ash landing on the back of his hand. He flicked it off and turned.

Lorenzo de'Medici was stood by the glass door that lead into the cafeteria, a respectful distance but somehow both too close and too far away.

“You are not disturbing me at all, Lorenzo,” Francesco said, fully aware of the irony. “In fact, I meant to find you.”

Lorenzo looked perplexed but took a step closer. Francesco quickly extinguished the cigarette in an ashtray and took a gulp of coffee. He probably reeked.

“I-” his mouth went dry. “I wanted to thank you. Your diagnosis earlier was spot on.”

Lorenzo smiled sheepishly. “I am sorry if I- I don't know- if I was too eager. I did not mean to put you on the spot.”

How considerate. And how adorable. Was he blushing? Surely it was the cold wind, or maybe the cigarette smoke. Francesco clawed at his wandering thoughts, willing them to stay focussed on the situation at hand.

“You kept a clear head and made a correct diagnosis. The signora will make a full recovery and appendices are overrated. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thank you, Dr Pazzi. It means a lot to me.”

Lorenzo tapped at the balcony enclosure with his shoe. Was he trying to muster the courage to say something?

“I know you are not looking to venture into emergency medicine, but you have shown aptitude and capability this week. I think you will be a very good physician, no matter which field you choose.” Francesco hoped to sound encouraging and light-hearted, but he really meant his words.

“I- I hope so. Would it be okay if I, I don't know, emailed you if there is a question or anything? I mean, if there is something that I would like your opinion on?”

Francesco opened his mouth, then closed it. He cleared his throat. “Sure. I mean, your professors are probably a lot more qualified and versatile than me, but sure. I would be happy to help.”

Lorenzo's beaming smile was contagious. Francesco nodded to himself. He was such an idiot. At least this ordeal was finally over. Lorenzo would continue to study and eventually become a heart surgeon or oncologist and Francesco would occasionally remember his warm smile and the funny feeling in the pit of his stomach and that would be it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, please ignore all medical details. Not a surgeon, not a doctor. 
> 
> Enjoy!

“Sorry to break the news to you,” Margareta said with a sympathetic smile. Francesco looked up from the shift rota and grit his teeth. “The HoD called in sick. Looks like we run the shop again.”  
It took all of his composure not to simply drop his head on the table, so the frustrated groan still escaped his lips. He had scheduled a day off later in the week and would have to scrap that. It was not as if he had exciting plans, but 36 hours without work were a luxury he had not been able to enjoy in quite a while. He would have done his laundry, bought some food to perhaps even cook himself a nice meal, but alas, it was clearly not meant to be.  
“Great.” He forced a tired smile since Margareta was still stood in the doorway. “Any other news?”  
Luckily, Margareta knew him almost better than he knew himself and did not take his sudden mood swings personally at all. He should definitely tell her one day how grateful he was. Or show some appreciation in a less embarrassing manner. But this would not be the day.  
“There is a rock concert in town later and a football match.” Margareta shrugged. “Need I say more?”  
Francesco shook his head. Of course there would be a midweek fixture of their local club and a second big event at the same time. It was just his luck.  
“Okay, nothing we can do about it.” He pushed his chair back and got up, leaving the shift rota for later. He would have to do it all again now anyway and there were more important things to do. He would fix it in the quiet moment before the post-match and concert rushes. “Let's get the day shift handed over and the rooms cleared. Is the stock checked?”  
Margareta nodded and filled him in on the details of the work she and the nurses handled behind the scenes. Normally, Francesco would not bother checking up on it, as it was not his duty, but since he had started filling in for the HoD, this duty fell to him too.  
He checked on the remaining emergency patients, filed several discharge papers and transferrals to other departments. Having plenty of free beds and prepared staff were the most important preparations they could make. The last time they had been on shift for a double event evening such as this, they had not stopped working between 9.30 and 2 in the morning. So preparation was, indeed, key.  
His phone rang shortly after they had checked up on the last transferral up to the general ward, who would stay there until the next morning to have his broken leg operated on. Francesco speed-walked to his office while picking up.  
“Yes?”  
There was a pause on the line and Francesco was ready to hang up the call when a familiar voice sounded on the other end.  
“Hi, er, Doctor Pazzi. Sorry to disturb you.”  
Francesco slammed shut the door to his office behind him and pressed his free hand to his forehead. Lorenzo de'Medici. In spite of the interruption to the few minutes of down time he would get that evening, Francesco was happy to hear his voice. If he had been less tired and less stressed, he might even have noticed a warm feeling in his stomach. But as it was, he slid down along the closed door until he sat, knees tucked tightly to his chest. He longed for a glass of wine, a cigarette and a good night's sleep.  
“Not at all.” Francesco remembered that he had to respond, since Lorenzo could not actually see him.  
“Oh good. I was worried. But you said I could contact you if I had any questions.”  
“I did say that.” Francesco wondered what the junior doctor could possibly need his knowledge for, considering that he was, currently and ever since joining their university hospital's cohort, top of his class. Not that Francesco had used his access to the student database to check. Not that he had read up on the oldest Medici son. Definitely not. “How can I help?”  
“So, we were discussing this topic in the lab class today, since we're about to move on to live tissue surgery on internal organs, and I was wondering if … you have any tips. Anything I should be looking out for.”  
Francesco furrowed his brow. This was standard procedure, technically Lorenzo should have heard about this in his first year anatomical general examination.   
“Anything in particular?” He probed, hoping that there was, perchance, a more specific issue Lorenzo was concerned about. But the other's voice sounded subdued, a little sheepish.  
“Nothing in particular, I was thinking more generally, you know. Things to look out for in the tissue and so on.”  
Francesco stretched out one leg. He felt his feet, which was never a good sign this early on in the shift.  
“Well, as I am sure you remember from your first year with us, the most important thing to watch out for is the patient's blood pressure and other vitals. You want to make sure not to cut any vital arteries or nerve tissue and keep your eyes out for necrotic tissue, especially in lungs and old wounds. Another thing is scar tissue, but I am sure you know that already.” Francesco was aware that he sounded increasingly tired and agitated, but in his mind, as his mouth was going on, he could not help wonder why Lorenzo was wasting his time like that.   
“Okay, thank you.”  
“Does that answer your question?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished he had put on his glasses that morning instead of the contact lenses.  
“Yes, thank you. I hope I wasn't wasting your free time.” Lorenzo sounded like Francesco's tone had translated a little too well over the line.  
Francesco chuckled dryly.   
“Not at all. I am on the night shift. Which reminds me. I need to go. Please make sure you revisit the materials you already have before you call next time, I am sure there is a lot that you already know. It would save both of us time.”  
“Okay. Yes. Sorry. Have a good evening. And, er, an uneventful shift.” Lorenzo sounded muffled.  
“You too. Have fun with the surgery. It's the best part. I am sure you will do a good job.” Francesco felt like he had to make amends with the Medici, he had offered to help, after all. Who would have guessed that Lorenzo lost his head the night before big occasions. Maybe he had performance anxiety. Francesco hung up before he could make to poor man feel any worse.  
A knock on his door made him scramble to his feet.  
“First collapse from the concert coming in,” Margareta shouted through the closed door and Francesco quickly silenced his phone and smoothed his hair where it had ruffled on the back. No rest for the wicked.


End file.
